The Lesson January Taught Me

The month of January is finally, blissfully gone, although, like an inconsiderate house guest, she has left messy reminders here in middle Tennessee. Snow still covers our yard; a little slush clings here and there on the more shaded roads; we are still not quite in normal routine (with schools finally going back 2 hours late today); and we are dreading the utility bill when it arrives in another week or so.

“Hate” is a strong word that I rarely use, but I pretty much hate January. (OK, the beautiful images on display above contradict that statement, but we’ll get to that in a bit.) Never mind that I actually like thinking back on the past year and making resolutions for the new one. Never mind that several relatives and friends have January birthdays. Never mind that I love any excuse to stretch out on the sofa with a blanket and a good book. None of that is worth the cold and the mess and the short days and, most of all, the lack of energy and enthusiasm that I always feel during this month.

Colette felt like I do: “January, month of empty pockets! … let us endure this evil month, anxious as a theatrical producer’s forehead.”

I try to make it through the month by focusing on “a time for all seasons,” as modeled in Ecclesiastes. That is, there’s a time to lie on the sofa and read; there’s a time to get up and ride your bike. There’s a time to lie on the sofa and watch old movies; there’s a time to clean the house. There’s a time to lie on the sofa and take a nap; there’s a time to organize fifteen years of photos and start a new scrapbooking project.

You, dear and astute reader, undoubtedly get it: I am sloth in January.

A couple of weeks of being slothful is OK, probably even quite good for the soul. But as the month goes on, I get sick of being slothful – and yet, I can’t seem to do anything about it. I’m stuck – on the sofa, of course – just waiting for the month to pass.

But this January was a tee-niny bit different. I wasn’t particularly excited about the big winter storm as it hit. The snow didn’t seem that pretty as it was falling on Friday; the quite-impressive-for-this-part-of-the-country depths and drifts hardly phased me on Saturday. But on Sunday, the sun came out, and my outlook changed.

All of nature was sheathed in ice that sparkled like the brightest diamonds. I couldn’t keep my eyes out of the tree branches. I fixed myself a good breakfast (I’m not the best cook, but I make a great omelette) and then bundled up and went outside, camera in hand. While I usually hurry to get out of the cold, on this day I took my time. I studied the ice-encapsulated buds on the cherry blossom and dogwood trees; I delighted in dozens of birds flocking to a neighbor’s feeder in a Christmas-card-perfect scene; I laughed at a snowman some creative soul had built in the back of a pickup truck. After I had walked around the block and was back in front of my house, I realized – with some astonishment – I wasn’t ready to go in. So I walked another direction, down by the river, where there was more beautiful scenery. As the day warmed, ice began to plink more and more rapidly from the trees and power lines until I decided it was time to head back home, if for no other reason than I needed protective head gear. Days later, the peace and joy of my winter walk is still with me.

When I first started this article, I entitled it “A Bit of Redemption for January.” On Sunday when I finished my walk, I thought January had earned its redemption with this unexpected day of beauty. A few days later, I realize the age-old truth – the need for redemption was mine – and I give thanks for all seasons and for every day that I take the time simply to be.

Comments

Ah, January. The thing I hate about it is the way it zips by in a blur. There are the holidays, and suddenly it’s February, and you’re wondering: What happened?
Lovely photos, and so good that you took the time to get out with camera in hand.

Your photos express how if we only make the time to look for it and become aware, there is true beauty even in the winters of our lives. I love taking photos that give me that same feeling as yours do. Thank you for sharing your special talent with us.

Gloria, Beth: Thanks to you both for letting me know you enjoyed the photos. The sun and the ice were a magical combination – for only a few hours, really. My photos don’t do the beauty full justice, but I’m glad I took the opportunity to try!

KORY WELLS is author of HEAVEN WAS THE MOON, poetry from March Street Press. Winner of the 2016 HeartWood Broadside Series and a two-time finalist for the Rash Award for Poetry, Kory's work appears in numerous print and online publications, including THE SOUTHERN POETRY ANTHOLOGY from Texas Review Press.

In 2017 Kory was selected the inaugural poet laureate of Murfreesboro, Tennessee, where she's lived most of her life. A software developer for many years, Kory’s now a poetry mentor with MTSU Write and is principal founder and curator of Poetry in the Boro. She also advocates for democracy, afternoon naps, and other good causes.
Learn more

Kory and her daughter Kelsey Wells, an old-time musician, collaborate on the album DECENT PAN OF CORNBREAD. Kelsey also plays with the contra dance band duo TURNIP THE BEET. Click the album cover below to sample on bandcamp.